


For Anonymous

by Master_of_the_Rebels



Series: Tumblr Prompts [7]
Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, mentions of Jason's death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-11
Updated: 2012-06-12
Packaged: 2017-11-07 12:44:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/431355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Master_of_the_Rebels/pseuds/Master_of_the_Rebels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: What if the Joker made a tape of him killing Jason and it somehow survived the explosion? What if Bruce watched it? What would he do?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

As a rule, Bruce was predictably unpredictable.  Everyone who knew him knew to expect that there was nothing they could do but to wait and see how any situation played out. Both Bruce and Batman had a tendency to surprise people, and even he sometimes didn't know what to expect.  He liked to think that he played things by ear, though some may argue vehemently with that claim, considering the plethora of backup plans that he created for every feasible situation.  Bruce believed in the eventuality of everything; a true Murphy's Law follower.  But planning was not something he considered predictable.  To plan for every possible outcome did not eliminate spontaneity.  It simply gave his spontaneity a firmer path.

However, as unpredictable as he could pronounce himself, there was one day out of the year during which Bruce had a distinct pattern.  On this day, his whereabouts could be predicted down to the exact minute. He was at his weakest on this day, and so stayed out of sight, locked up in the cave from six thirty-seven in the morning until he went out the following night in the suit at precisely eight-oh-five.  Most of the villains and thieves had learned to lie low on this particular day, for something about it set the Batman in a terrible mood.  Thankfully, it was on this night that the vigilante would retire early, exactly 3:52 AM.

~~~

"You are home rather early, Master Bruce.  Was crime light in the city tonight?" Alfred folded the cowl over his forearm, studiously returning the unamused stare he was given.

"You know very well why I'm home early, Alfred.  Don't ask pointless questions." Bruce dropped into his chair, turning left and immediately beginning to type the components of very specific passcode.

Alfred frowned deeply as numbers and code filtered across the screen in a complicated array. "Again, Master Bruce?" There was a distinct _tsk_ that was more than an adequate reminder about asking unwanted questions, but the older man was not deterred.  "You have tormented yourself enough with this.  Is he not alive?  Cease this torture, it is not healthy."

Bruce watched the screen intently as it flickered, a dark blur that would clear in the next few seconds shifting across it.  "I am reacquainting myself with a lesson I don't want to forget," he reasoned, clicking a couple more buttons to launch the window into a full screen.

"Master Bruce, I would think that at this point, even Master Ja—"

"Alfred." The sharp snap of his name caused the butler to cut off his sentence abruptly and his lips thinned into a firm line as Bruce turned around to level a boiling glare at him. "I no longer require your services tonight.  Please feel free to take some personal time."

The disapproval was impossible to miss, and Alfred took the dismissal with a deep inhale and acceptance that only he was capable of possessing when confronted with Bruce's glacial ire.  He tipped his upper body forward in a short bow.  "As you wish, Master Bruce." He departed the main area of the cave on quiet feet, glancing back before fully leaving to see the screen come alight with the scene of a warehouse and a bloody boy, unwilling to surrender, crawling along the concrete floor to the wretched soundtrack of a crowbar's dragging iron.

Alfred's eyes shut with heartfelt pain at the sight of Bruce's fingers digging into the armchair, an anchor to keep him in place as the Joker's maniacal laughter blasted from the speakers and spread insipidly through the air of the cave, poisoning it instantly.

He shut the door quickly, cutting off a far too familiar scream of agony.

~~~

When Alfred entered the study, he found Damian scowling at his perch on the window seat and Tim seated in an armchair, book in hand and legs crossed at the knee.  Tim looked up when the man entered the room and opened his mouth to speak, but the youngest interrupted.

"Pennyworth, what is wrong with my father?  Why has he ended patrol so early?" Damian stood from his seat, crossing his arms in a manner that said he was ready for an argument.

Instead, Alfred was magnanimous with his reply, and he responded gently, "Master Bruce is having a bit of a lie down.  I do believe the day has taken its toll."

Damian's brow furrowed in confusion.  "The day? What does that mean?  He has locked himself in the cave and overruled all entry protocols." He scoffed and plopped himself back into the window cushions.  "If you are somehow trying to imply that my father is weakened by the sunlight, I must say that is the most asinine statement I have ever heard."

"No, Damian," Tim sighed, shutting his book with a finger inside to hold his place.  "It's just that today is the anniversary of—" Tim's eyes flickered to Alfred, and he hesitated. "Of someone's death."

An eyebrow rose on Damian's pristine face, and he snapped, "Whose?"

When Tim seemed to struggle for a moment, Alfred took over.  "Someone very dear to Master Bruce died on this day some years ago.  It is not our place to tell the story.  Perhaps you should ask him sometime?"

"I am not so needy as to beg for answers.  Father will surely tell me later." Damian snorted, turning away just a bit too late to hide the uncertainty in his eyes. 

Tim watched the boy with a sympathetic expression, and he took pity enough to change the subject.  "Are you done for the night, Alfred?"

The butler sent an understanding smile at the teen.  "Yes, I was just coming in to shut the curtains before heading off to bed." He gazed expectantly at Damian, who was positioned in the way of the task, but the boy made no motion to move.  Alfred simply smiled again, and continued, "But I think I am far too tired besides.  If you don't mind closing them on your way out, Master Timothy?"

"Of course, Alfred." Tim fished his bookmark from between the cushions of the seat and set his book aside after marking his page.  "Have a good night."

The butler excused himself, and silence descended on the room for several minutes until Tim sighed and reached towards the table for his laptop.  "Damian."

"Drake." Damian's snarky reply was accompanied by tapping fingers on the windowpane, and the boy pushed it open wide to allow the cool night air inside.

Rolling his eyes at the petulance, Tim beckoned with one hand, while the other flipped open the computer and singlehandedly typed in the password.  "Come here." When Damian refused with a scathing sneer, Tim turned an impatient glare on him.  "You wanted to know what's going on with Bruce, right? Come. Here." Damian wavered, torn between his own curiosity and an ingrained desire to disobey Tim at every chance, but he eventually came to hover beside Tim's arm.

Satisfied, Tim stood up and gestured for Damian to take a seat, setting the laptop in the boy's lap once he did.  "Just hit the spacebar to play.  I'm not going to watch it again." A light shiver raced over Tim's skin, raising goosebumps from the memory.  "Once was too much itself."

"What am I watching?" Damian questioned, fingers floating above the keys as he tried to decipher the blurry image on the screen.

"It's a download I made a couple years ago." Tim rubbed his thumb over the inside of his wrist, a nervous habit he only seemed to employ in this house.  "I was curious, like you, so I set up a recording system to hack into the computer Bruce was using.  It copied that video file."

"That is surprisingly clever for you, Drake," Damian acquiesced, excited to have an inside look into his father's secrets.

Tim stepped back quickly when Damian's fingers went to tap the key, drawing a judgmental look from the boy.  He wasn't ashamed by it, though.  "It's not a nice thing, Damian." He nodded to the laptop even as he moved back to leave the room. "After seeing that, I stopped asking questions. Some of Bruce's secrets should remain secrets." On those foreboding words, Tim departed, and Damian was left to contemplate the implications of Tim's little speech.

Outside, Tim slumped against the door, thankful for all of the manor's thick doors that muffled the noise inside and prevented him from hearing the video start. Even still, his stomach flipped nauseatingly, and Tim's chills worsened into a thick, cold sweat. It had been a long time since he'd thought about the contents of that video. He didn't like it. It terrified him in ways that were different than the worst kind of mental torture.

He had a strong suspicion it was the costume.

The colors made it difficult to disassociate from the situation.  Robin was as much a part of him as his own flesh and bone, and to see _that_ made his skin positively crawl. He couldn't pull himself back from it.  The first time he'd seen it, Tim had broken down, a complete wreck, vomiting all over the floor of his bedroom from the visuals and unable to turn out the lights for days after. He hadn't left his room for a week, completely overtaken by violent imagery, and it had taken a combination of kind words and manhandling from Kon to get him to even poke his head out into the real world.

Maybe it was cruel of him, but he wanted to share the experience with someone, and Damian was likely to be the only other person who would understand the impact.  Dick wouldn't be the same.  Jason's death had a different meaning to the older man.  Dick had wanted to make Jason part of his family.  For Dick, he saw something close to a son, a brother, being murdered.  But to Tim, and possibly Damian, it was a legacy, beaten to a bloody, pulpy mess on the floor and then blown sky high with no remorse. It was _different_.

His morbid thoughts halted when a protesting shout slithered out from behind the door, and Tim was up in a flash, ripping the entrance open.  He lurched inside only to stumble when he found Nightwing, absolute fury coloring his face, holding the laptop up in the air with pure disgust. Tim's eyes flew to Damian, who was white as a sheet and looking very much regretful of his decision to pry.  But that was nothing compared to when Dick stepped in front of the boy and shook the laptop with a strict control that belied the menace behind the motion.

"What the _hell_ is this?"

Dick was beyond furious.  Anger didn't even begin to cover what he was feeling. He had snuck into the window when he saw it open, fully expecting to give a happy surprise to whoever was likely reading in the soft light, but what he found instead was his former protégé, staring horrified a video that he should never have been watching to begin with.  He had arrested the laptop from Damian's lap immediately, though the boy's protest was more reflex than any actual desire to keep watching. 

Dick would know.  He'd seen the video.

"I ask you again," Dick gritted through his teeth when Tim remained frozen, eyes wide like a rabbit in the clutches of a predator.  It was an aptly chosen analogy, because Dick was on the precipice of striking out, something he had never considered before where Tim was concerned. "What. The Hell. Is. This."

"It's—" Tim stuttered to a stop, and Dick's eyes narrowed.

"Because what it looks like to me is a very controversial video that you are allowing a _ten-year-old_ to watch."

"It's Jason's—"

"I know what it is!" Dick roared, throwing the laptop onto the couch where it bounced and teetered precariously on the edge.  "Who the hell do you think was there to watch it for the first time when it was found?" Dick's arm swept out, just barely missing the side of Damian's head, but he carried on with irate fury, too swept away with his shock and anger to hold back.  "I am well aware of what this video is. And it is _private_ and you _stole_ it with no regard or respect for the victims."

Tim's face was pale.  "Dick, I didn't think—"

"You didn't _think_? Damn right, you didn't think!" Dick's whole body shuddered as he visibly tried to control himself, fingers quivering with compressed energy, just restraining himself from reaching for anything lethal. Voice low, the threat a serrated edge on his tongue, Dick hissed, "You will delete this.  Now.  You will destroy any and every copy you have ever made of it.  And you will _never_ ," his arm slashed to the side, " _ever_ hack into Bruce's personal files again.  Do you understand me?"

Tim could barely nod shakily, overwhelmed by Dick's arching ferocity, and he balked brutally when Dick shouted, “I asked you if you understood!"

"Yes." Dick jerked back when Damian stepped in front of Tim with a careful expression of surrender. His face was still in the process of regaining its color, but he stood his ground. "Yes, Grayson.  We understand.  We are sorry to have pried into something that is none of our business.  However, it was my fault and you should not be blaming Drake for my curiosity.  I insisted."

Dick's face fell through a myriad of emotion, shifting rapidly from anger to confusion to remorse, and finally settling on defeat. His hand came up to scrape across his face, and he worked his mask away from his skin a bit more roughly than was expressly called for.  Pulling it off, he rubbed at his eyes, his throat working around the lump that had suddenly taken residence there. "I'm sorry." Dick looked up, eyes forlorn, and he reiterated, "I'm sorry, Tim.  I shouldn't have yelled.  I just..." he drifted off, expression broken, and Tim made a soft noise in his throat and stepped around Damian to wrap his arms around the eldest man.

"Don't apologize." Tim squeezed the nape of Dick's neck, the man's head drooping to rest on his shoulder.  "I was wrong, I know. I deserved every bit of that."

Dick shook his head, arms coming up to wrap Tim in a strong hug. "No, Timmy. You didn't deserve that at all. I'm sorry." He pulled back, giving the younger man a weak smile.  "But please, delete it, okay?  I'd rather it not get passed around."

"Of course, Dick." Tim assured, head dipping under Dick's hand as his hair was ruffled.  "I'll do it right away."

Dick nodded, and turned to Damian with another small smile.  "And look at you, standing up for Tim." Damian scoffed and turned up his nose.

"I did no such thing."

"Sure, whatever you say." Dick's smile released some of its tension when Damian hesitated, then stepped forward into his space.

"You may commence with your clinging if you must.  I am told in moments of high emotion, it is...soothing."

Tim could only cover his mouth to hide his smirk, while Dick had a look akin to winning the lottery. His arms twitched, already wanting to wrap around the irritable boy, but he held himself back and only gave him a squeeze on the shoulder, much to both his younger siblings' surprise.

"Thanks, little D. But I'm going to rain check on that, if it's okay?" Damian nodded dumbly, unable to believe it.  "You two have a good night, okay? I'm gonna go see if I can find Alfred."

Dick left the room to twin disbelieving mutters of "Good Night," and he immediately beelined for the grandfather clock at the end of the hall. He wasn't normally one to lie to his family, but circumstances begged the occasion. 

He slipped inside the secret entrance and headed silently down the steps, the cool wash of cave air flooding over him along with a screeching laughter that made him cringe horridly.  It was more than necessary to tell him what to expect.  He made it to the bottom steps, took one look at Bruce's death grip on his chair, and threw himself around the man's shoulders.

"Dick!  What—" The chair swiveled and Bruce found himself with a lapful of his first partner, hugging him, face pressed into his neck.

"Please stop, Bruce.  I can't, I need you to _stop_ ," Dick begged. He could feel Bruce's throat work to swallow against his forehead and they both flinched bodily when a particularly gurgling scream sounded off from the speakers.  "Turn it off.  Bruce, _turn it off_."

The loud boom of an explosion vanished midway, the echo dispersing into the cave as Bruce’s hands stopped the video.  The man frowned deeply down at the hero clinging to him.  “Dick…”

“No.” Dick fell back, hands coming up to grip Bruce’s neck and jaw.  “ _No._ ” He said it more forcefully, punctuating the word with a shake of his hands that made Bruce grip onto his wrists.  “You have to stop doing this to yourself.  To me.  I can’t take this anymore, Bruce.  I need,” Dick inhaled erratically, pushing words consciously from his mouth.  “I need you to be stronger than this.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Bruce pushed Dick away, standing up, but he could barely move a step before Dick latched onto his shoulder and spun him back.

“I know you think you’re doing the right thing by putting yourself through this every year, but you’re not.  Watching this video changes nothing.  What happened was nobody’s fault but the Joker’s, and you know that.” Dick watched the man, surprised when he saw Bruce waver.  He reached out, two fingers hooking into Bruce’s pinkie and pulling back his attention.  “You do know that, right?”

“Of course I know that,” Bruce sighed, lifting his hand away to drag it through his hair.  “But just because I’ve accepted the fact doesn’t mean I hate myself any less for what happened.”

“It can’t change anything,” Dick tried to reason, even as Bruce sat back down in the chair and rewound the video back to the beginning.  “Jason is different now, better.  You know he was actually nice to Tim the other day?” Dick tried to smile, but the effect was minimal.  He knelt by Bruce’s side.  “Jason has forgiven you.” Bruce’s fingers spasmed in his reach for the playback button, and he curled them into his palm.

There was a tense hush, and then Bruce murmured, “But I haven’t forgiven myself.” And he hit the button and settled back into the chair again.

Dick felt his throat constrict at the first ring of terrible laughter, and he closed his eyes.  Still kneeling, he gripped Bruce’s hand and pressed his face into it, refusing to allow his mentor, his most important person, to suffer this alone.

When the first scream of pain came from the screen, along with warm, wet droplets against his wrist, Bruce gripped back tightly.


	2. Chapter 2

Jason, well, Jason liked to consider himself something of a traditionalist.  That’s why every year on the anniversary of his death, he has made a point of going around Gotham City with a crowbar and downright obliterating every statue or video or poster he could find with a smiling painted face on it. 

 

As for the imbeciles that happened to make the mistake of using clown masks to cover their faces, well, this year they were getting a bullet in both knees.  And none of those fake, rubber pieces of shit he’d been getting used to using lately because the freaking birds _and_ bats had been on his case—Jason, you can’t kill.  No, Jason, it’s bad.  Jason, _Jason_ , no, that’s _cruel_ —Screw that, these were real bullets that split flesh and bone, and made Jason grin with wicked mirth when he knelt down and pressed his fingers into the seeping wounds to the sweet chorus of pain-filled screams.  Hey, just because he’d changed a bit, didn’t mean a guy couldn’t appreciate past enjoyments.

 

Yeah, maybe Jason was a little bit vindictive on this one night of the year, but he damn well deserved to be.  No one had been through the shit he’d been through, and fucking hell, he _hated_ clowns.  The sight of them brought back trauma, so no, he wasn’t going to take mercy just because “they don’t know better” because fuck that.  Nobody _knows better_ , that’s a fact of life, but it’s still no good excuse.

 

Two years ago, Robin had tried to stop him from widening one unlucky bastard’s smile, and the kid had received a sizeable knife wound in the left thigh for his efforts—don’t worry, Jason avoided the major artery.  Last year, the lesson had still been ringing loud and clear, and the teen had stood atop a nearby building, a self-preserving distance, as he’d watched Jason beat the face of a sleazy drug dealer into a bloody, unrecognizable mess.  When Jason had finished, he’d wiped his forehead, leaving a slick of blood not his own behind, and sneered up at the other vigilante.

 

“Gonna come down and reprimand me, pretty bird?  Or do you get your rocks off from watching?” Jason had said, and made a vulgar motion with a bark of a laugh.  “Cuz that’s actually something I could get _behind_ , if you know what I mean.” He hadn’t received much of a response past a curl upward of a lip in irritation, and the kid had disappeared with a swirl of his cape into the night.

 

This year, Jason had toned it down a bit, despite the real bullets loaded into his spare gun, just in case.  A lot had happened in the last year, since the new little purebreed Robin had shown up and kicked the Replacement out.  Jason had even gone so far as to offer the shunned boy a position at his side, but he’d been ungratefully turned down.

 

It was just as well.  Being Batman would have been way too much effort, and the Pretender was far too much trouble.  Besides, the kid seemed happy now that Bruce had come back and he’d stepped into his solo role as Red Robin.  That had been a bit confusing for Jason at first, but he took it in stride and went about his own way.  He half expected to see Red Robin, or at least the new Robin tonight, but from word on the street, it seemed that Batman had called patrol in early.

 

Come to think of it, the same thing had happened the last few years, too, but Jason had been too out of place at the time to really register it as significant.  Cracking his knuckles, he wiped his fingers off on his jeans and lifted up his sleeve to look at his watch.  It was about a quarter to five and Jason knew the Bats’ patrol didn’t end until at least five-thirty.  Frowning to himself, he stepped over the moaning body of his victim, kicking him in the stomach in the process.

 

He holstered his gun at his hip and grappled up to the rooftops, orienting himself in the direction of the Wayne Estate once he’d made it to where he’d stashed his supplies.  Pulling out a customized PDA, he keyed in a few codes and managed to pull up the general security cameras of the manor.  He found Tim and Damian huddled on the couch together in the study, curiously well behaved considering they were speaking to each other.  Alfred was nowhere to be found, but that was nothing unusual.  The butler was stealthier than the entire family put together.

 

Chewing on his cheek, he muttered, “All right, Bossman.  Let’s find out what you do in your free time.” He bypassed the firewall easily enough and had to stop himself from prematurely entering the time sensitive password that accessed the cave’s hardware.  After exactly seven seconds, he typed in the proper combination and his screen flashed once before showing a broad view of the cave.  “Excellent.” He couldn’t access the sound or he might trigger an alarm, but video was good enough for his purpose.

 

He flipped through various camera angles until he stopped abruptly on one of Dick throwing himself into Bruce’s arms.  “Whoa, there, Dickie-bird.  That’s a little forward, even for you.” He licked his lips, wondering if he should try to record this to show off for the shock factor, but after zooming in, he frowned.  Dick was distraught, that much was obvious, and Bruce didn’t appear to be much better.

 

Both men flinched visibly and Dick muttered something into Bruce’s collarbone, to which Bruce responded by reaching forward and typing something into the computer.  Eyes narrowed, Jason whispered, “What are we looking at, boys?”

 

He flicked around through a few more cameras, trying to get a good shot while Dick did some pretty heavy duty pleading, complete with forlorn puppy eyes and quivering lip.  He finally got the angle right as Dick fell to his knees beside Bruce.  Slightly confused, Jason muttered, “So what are we watchi—”

 

Jason stiffened at the sight that met his eyes.  “What the fuck?” A severe frisson of old panic licked through his veins and he stuttered on his breathing as he tried to process what was going on.  “Why—” Why was there a video of _that_?  Better question, why was there _still_ a video and why hadn’t it been _destroyed_ yet?

 

He shoved the PDA away from him, suddenly extremely thankful for there not having been any audio.  Gloved fingers clenched against his thighs convulsively, and he inhaled unevenly through his nose, trying and failing to regulate his breathing.  That was not something he needed to see today, not ever, really, but especially not today.

 

The video itself had to have been the Joker’s doing, Jason could think of no one else so sadistic or self-involved.  The mad clown probably thought it would be a masterpiece, but thankfully he hadn’t gotten his hands on it.  But speaking of getting hands on it…

 

“Well.” Jason sat back on his haunches, his face a grim set, a righteous fury building in his gut that was helping assuage the almost panic attack.  “That’s a bit rude.” Shoving the device in his duffel, he stood up.  “I guess I’m gonna have to show them it’s not very nice to start the movie before the star shows up.”

 

It took Jason just under fifteen minutes on his bike to make it to the outskirts of the estate, and he parked the motorcycle just shy of the security barrier, leaving his helmet and domino behind with it.  His point of entry would be simple, right into the study.  He’d seen the window hanging open when he’d snooped on Tim and Damian.

 

Cameras were easy enough to avoid in the landscaping, it was when he was inside that he’d have to be careful with how he moved.  He skimmed up the trellis and edged his way into the study, making sure that the boys were still asleep.  Pulling up to his full height, he glanced around and had to bite his lip to stop from snorting at the pair curled up asleep together.

 

He’d have snapped a picture of the adorable for later use as blackmail if he weren’t on a mission.  Bypassing the dozing bundle of blankets, Jason made his way out of the room, not bothering to hide.  Bruce had inlaid this place with so many cameras it was impossible to find a blind spot, so there was no use in trying.  Besides, the system was designed to pick up unnatural movement; the more you tried to sneak around, the more likely you were to trip the alert.  Moving like you belonged was the best bet.

 

Jason gave it less than a minute before the alarms recognized that he was an extra heat signature and sounded off, so he made his way steadily, but quickly to the main entry he used when he previously lived here, right behind a tapestry in the side hallway of his old—now Damian’s—rooms.

 

The familiar hiss and click of the latch opening greeted him, and he slid inside, confident in his success at being unnoticed.  He sped down the stairs, nothing more than another shadow, and halted when his own scream, younger, but still unmistakable, rattled through his nerves.

 

It stole his breath away, and he hated the intense rush of phantom sensation it brought back to him.  Allowing his anger to rise and push back the panic, Jason strode forward with purpose, headed straight for the pair of slumped men, Dick still on his knees beside Bruce’s chair.

 

“So I hear there’s been a wangst fest here on my behalf.” The two vulnerable men jumped, which was gratifying in and of itself.  Not too many people could claim to be able to sneak up on Batman _and_ Nightwing.

 

“Jason!  What are you doing here?” Dick stumbled to his feet, his hand still a vice on Bruce’s wrist, and subsequently pulling the older man up with him.

 

“I was running around town, doing my thing, and noticed there was a distinct lack of bird in the sky.  And it got me to thinking,” Jason reached back, eyes cold as he unhooked the crowbar he’d been carrying since early evening from his back and enjoying the way Bruce’s eyes zoned in on it like a hawk.  “What could possibly have happened that only the Red Hood was out patrolling?  Not that I’m complaining,” he lifted his hands, crowbar glinting in the pale light.  “I appreciate the assists you guys have been giving me lately, but doing the job solo is still a much better thrill.”

 

“Jason, this isn’t what you think,” Dick took a step forward, his eyes also focused on the weapon, and Bruce reached back to pause the video and make one separate tap that was no doubt the silent alarm.  Jason had maybe a minute before Tim and Damian would be down here.  He had to make it count.

 

“What I think?  Goldie, what I think is that, when I went surfing through the cave’s camera feeds,” he could see Bruce twitch at that, “I saw the fam having a movie night without me.  Now, that doesn’t seem very fair, does it?”

 

With a schooled look at the stopped screen where he saw himself, several years past, in the process of being dragged by a foot across the concrete, Jason drolled, “I gotta say, while I do like things that end with a bang, I’m not really a huge fan of your choice in movies right now.”

 

With a wild swing, Jason launched the crowbar through the air, sending it crashing right into the middle of the screen and forcing both Bruce and Dick to dive out of the way.  It was right where the Joker’s cackling face had just been, but now all that remained were sparking electronics and shattered glass.  Bruce and Dick stared at him, Dick with pure shock and Bruce’s jaw working hard at grinding his teeth.




 

“There.” Jason’s grin what sparkling.  “Problem solved.”  Tim and Damian burst through a passageway near the garage, uniforms half on and weapons at the ready, coming to a startled halt at the sight before them.  Jason waved cheekily.

 

“Someone owes me for that good deed.” Jason’s false humor turned to ice and he spat out, “Because apparently a few of you needed to be reminded that there are some things that shouldn’t be done.  _Ever_.” He was pleased to be greeted with silence.  At least they all knew when they were very much in the wrong.

 

“Now.  I’m going to take the high road and call this a serious misunderstanding, but let me lay down some law before I leave.” He whirled, a gun cocked and aimed at Tim and Damian, who had slowly been creeping towards him, prepared to strike.  The youngest boys froze and at a short jerk of the barrel from Jason, they dropped their weapons.  Satisfied, he targeted another at Dick and Bruce and pointedly pulled back the safety.

 

“I’m going to check back in tomorrow, and if that abomination hasn’t been completely destroyed, I am going to lay waste to your mainframe and you will lose every last piece of data you have _ever_ collected.  Are my words fucking crystal enough for you?  I will _ruin_ you.”

 

The screen sputtered and a warped laugh emerged from the speakers, rocketing a crack of electric fear down Jason’s spine and making all the hairs on his skin stand on end.  That was all it took to snap his already very fine wire, and with an uninhibited scream, he turned, both guns held in front of him, letting loose round after round into the speaker.  He didn’t cease until both weapons clicked uselessly, empty, and he couldn’t stop himself from shaking, his entire body a turbulent wave.  Shit… _shit!_

 

“Jason…”

 

“Don’t fucking touch me!” Jason’s eyes were wild, not entirely sane as he flung his arm out to stop Dick’s reach for his shoulder.  “Don’t…don’t you dare touch me!  How dare you!  How dare all of you?  You have no idea, you have _no fucking idea_!”

 

His whole being centered on Bruce, pinning the man in place and leaving no room for escape.  “You, how could you, you know what this is.  What it means.” Jason’s fingers were numb, and the metal slid from his sweaty hands.  They didn’t know what to do with themselves empty, and shivered brutally in the charged air, grasping at nothing.  “You kept this kind of thing?  Why would you do that?  Knowing what it can do to me.” Jason’s felt bile rise up, his panic attack having gone full blown and uncontrollable, and he gagged, putting all his effort into swallowing the bitter fluid back down.

 

In his effort, he stumbled and hit his knees hard as he came down to the ground.  “Do you really hate me so much?” A dry wretch escaped him, with a stuttered, hysterical laugh, and he could feel burning tracks running down from his eyes.  Damn it, he hadn’t had a panic attack this bad in years, not since, not since he… Jason clutched at his arms frantically, and started to pitch forward.  He could hear several calls of his name, but all he could focus on was the erratic beating of his heart, the incomprehensible difficulty of breathing, and the, the heady scent of Kevlar, leather, heat against his skin everywhere his face pressed into the warm body kneeling in front of him.

 

Large hands gripped his shoulder and the back of his head, pressing him harder into the solid wall of muscle, familiar, beyond comfort, something he hadn’t known he’d been desperate for, like finally coming home after barely living… _home_.  He was _home_. 

 

“Bruce… _Bruce!_ ”

 

“I’ve got you, Jason.”


End file.
